


Birthday

by sheafrotherdon



Series: Nantucket AU [25]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-17
Updated: 2007-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:16:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lazy beginning to John's first birthday spent with Rodney on Nantucket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aesc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aesc/gifts).



> The lazy beginning to John's first birthday spent with Rodney on Nantucket.

The callused pad of a keyboard-worn finger drags slowly over his skin, and John hums softly, rising up through the golden slipstream of his dreams to turn his head and ask, "whatch' doin'?"

Rodney noses at his shoulder, flushed the gentle pink that's his version of guilt. "Touching." He slides his fingertip along the low curve of John's belly, just beneath the waistband of his shorts.

"Mmmmm," John murmurs, eyes drifting closed again, and he arches up into the touch, stretches and sighs as he settles, lax against the sheets. "You've got . . ." His lips are dry from a night with the windows wide open, salt-sweet breezes blowing in from the shore. He wets them clumsily. "A thing."

"Thing?" Rodney whispers, lips brushing John's upper arm.

"For m'boxers."

Rodney shifts and huffs laughter into the sleep-damp curve of John's throat. "They're _soft_ ," he offers, and there's a smile in his voice.

"Soft," John repeats, dragging his eyes open just as far as he can – barest fraction, just enough to see Rodney's tousled hair. "Th'old."

Rodney pulls his fingertip from beneath John's waistband, reaches to slide his hand up the inside of John's thigh. "Soft," he repeats, thumb grazing beneath the hem of one leg, making John shiver. John shifts his hips and opens his thighs.

"More?" he murmurs.

"Demanding," Rodney whispers back, and John can see how his smile grows wider.

"S'my birthday," John reminds him.

Rodney hides his indulgent mirth in a kiss pressed gently to the soft skin below John's ear. "Really?"

John smacks him feebly, but there's no malice in it. "You know it."

"Hmmmm," Rodney hums.

"Rodneeeeeey," John whines, and he's rewarded by Rodney twisting his hand, sliding two fingers up the rise of his thigh, hair pushed back against the grain as he reaches to gently graze skin of John's balls. "Tease," John sighs, cock twitching happily.

"Yeah?" Rodney asks.

"Tease," John says again as Rodney pulls his hand away, kisses his forehead, the tip of his nose. John laughs as they shift, as the bed creaks and Rodney settles above him, smiling, beaming, _naked_ ; as Rodney dips his head and nips at his throat.

"You want me to tease?" Rodney asks, sliding a little lower, and he covers John's nipple with his lips, rubs a gentle rhythm against it with his tongue.

John rocks his hips up against Rodney's weight, a brittle moan caught in his throat. "Not . . . not really," he manages as Rodney raises his head to look at him, cups his jaw and rubs a thumb over his cheek. "Not reall – " And Rodney's bent his head once more, taken John's other nipple in his mouth, and John fumbles one hand to the back of Rodney's head, cradles the curve of his skull against one palm. "Oh, god . . ."

He's never prepared for it, the way it feels to have Rodney touch him, the way affection rises up from inside his chest as though limitless, grateful, run through with a joy that he's almost embarrassed to feel through the medium of this body, scarred and aging. He's helpless to do anything but bask in it, in the fondness that Rodney presses so generously into his skin, a fondness that baffles him, that's become as necessary as breathing.

"Birthday," Rodney reminds him, scattering slow, open-mouthed kisses over John's torso, tongue lapping at his sheet-warm skin, dipping into his navel, trailing through coarse hair.

"Hmmm," John manages, eyes closed, his body given over to the deep, dark ache that only Rodney's ever managed to summon from muscle and bone, the shimmering fever that curls inside his elbows, behind the bend of his knee, at the base of his spine. He gasps softly as Rodney hooks his fingers into the waistband of his shorts; tilts his hips obligingly, expecting them to be pulled away – but Rodney's fingers merely still there, nails against John's skin, and he bends his head, mouths at the head of John's cock through soft, wash-worn cotton, and John tips his head back and keens.

"Steady," Rodney whispers, and god he sounds smug, nuzzling and nosing at John's balls, at his groin, refusing to be hurried, to pull the cotton aside and lay wet lips and sharp tongue against John's erection.

John twists, but Rodney's hands hold him steady, pin him; he asks nicely, begs, swears at last, and Rodney's unmoved. "Rodney," John sighs, needy, tremulous, sagging back into his pillow, sunlight splashing warm across the contours of his chest.

"Yeah," Rodney murmurs, sucks him through the damp, sticky cloth, the sheer, unstoppable width of his body pressing John's thighs further apart. He pulls back, blows a long, steady breath over the wet, clinging fabric and makes John start with surprise, arousal shooting hot and sharp from his groin to his heart.

"Rodney . . ."

"Shhhhh."

" _Please_ . . ."

And Rodney finally acquiesces, tugs John's boxers down and away, bends his head and sucks him in deep, tongue working clever mischief as his fingers map the damp creases behind John's thighs. It's dizzying, the pressure that's building low in his belly, need meeting drowsiness, a fission that warms in his wrists, at his feet, in his chest, and his hips jerk, his lungs clog with words that barely pass for sound by the time they reach his lips, and he's helpless as Rodney pulls back, presses a kiss to the head of his cock then slides, full body, to lie above him, hands fisted in their pillows, eyes alight.

"Like this," Rodney murmurs, and rocks forward, a lazy, lewd drag of his hips, and John gasps, breath stuttering, hands moving to cup Rodney's ass.

"Yeah," he manages, and he lifts his head blindly, seeking Rodney's mouth, wanting to taste all the words Rodney spills so confidently, the ideas he has that light up a room, and when Rodney's lips part, when the humid heat of his mouth meets John's, when John tastes _himself_ on Rodney's tongue, he arches, cries out, comes with a snap of hips, and shudders gratefully to be pinned into place by affection like this.

*****

John drifts, contented, as Rodney cleans them up, swiping at the come on their bellies with the boxers they've cast aside. He feels glorious, hollowed out, filled up again with bright September sunlight, and when Rodney flops beside him he rolls instinctively toward his body heat. "Mmmmmm," he manages, trusting a lazy kiss to the base of Rodney's throat. He stretches happily as Rodney spreads broad fingers at the small of his back.

"Happy?" Rodney asks, toes battling John's toes, a sleepy, wriggling fight in the sheets at the base of the bed.

"Happy," John smiles, pretty sure he's smiling stupidly, fingers rubbing circles over Rodney's nubby elbow.

"'Cause it's your birthday, so you should be happy," Rodney whispers, mapping the bumps of John's damp spine. "I mean – I don't know about you but me, I didn't always . . . well, my parents weren't . . . and then I went to college and – it wasn't important for a long time, at least I didn't think it was, so much work to be done, work doesn't wait for . . . and then – but here I think I might . . ."

John blinks, eyebrows slowly rising. "Huh?" he asks, wondering how Rodney has the energy required for such tangled, urgent verbiage.

"I just – " And Rodney's smoothing a finger over his eyebrows, sliding his hand to the nape of John's neck, down his back. "I want you to have a good birthday."

And John gets it, hears all the important things that get left unsaid when Rodney speaks too fast, hears the echo of empty years and quiet waiting, hears the resonant note that's Nantucket, that's him. "Best," John says, shifting to kiss him, close-lipped and chaste. "Best birthday." He watches as Rodney's cheeks pink up, as he puffs up with pride.

"Well – I have more things planned, there's – "

And John kisses him again. "Shhhh, now," he murmurs and tucks his face against Rodney's neck, lets out a long, peaceful, blissed-out breath.

"Shhh?" Rodney noses his hair. "Okay, I can shhh, I can – " And John feels the moment the idea burrows past Rodney's words into his brain, feels the breath that leaves Rodney's body as he finally goes lax, the curve of his belly soft against John's, trusting, resting, and John thinks he knows the moment Rodney closes his eyes.


End file.
